


Sorry To Interrupt

by choking_on_roses



Category: Free!
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Polyamory, Sousuke's denial could win the Oscar for best supporting actor, Threesome - M/M/M, a suspicious lack of gag reflexes, bottom!Makoto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choking_on_roses/pseuds/choking_on_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This love triangle doesn't turn out like they usually do in the movies. But Sousuke's (probably) okay with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorry To Interrupt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ad_Astra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Astra/gifts).



> *incoherent screaming* Soooooo this was a commission from Dani!! 
> 
> Dani, I really want to express my gratitude for all the love and support you've shown me over the past few weeks and months, particularly by encouraging me to open up commissions in the first place and helping me through the entire process. I really couldn't have done this without you. 
> 
> On top of that, this also happened to be one of the best prompts ever- I had a blast working with you on this one! I've actually been itching to write SouKisuMako forever, like pretty much since I joined the fandom and started writing, and you gave me such a mind-blowingly amazing opportunity. I also think this is kinda neat since the first fic of _yours_ I ever read was a SouKisuMako (if any of ya'll haven't read it, you should- it's wonderful and you can find it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/MakotoTachibottomFest2K14/works/2619758).)
> 
> I could literally write an essay on how wonderful I think you are and how much your friendship means to me and how much I admire your talent as a writer, but in lieu of embarrassing myself any further I'll just shut up and let you enjoy your fic. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Rosa
> 
> (Casual self-advert time! Anyone interested in commissioning a fic from me should check out my info [here](http://rosaveritas.tumblr.com/tagged/commissions%20info). You can also contact me on twitter [@maguro_hime](https://twitter.com/maguro_hime))

There are a thousand things about Kisumi that keep drawing Sousuke in. His smile. His intelligence. His energy like a windstorm in early spring. The way  he loves deeply, earnestly, unconditionally. The way Sousuke will only ever own half of his heart...

"Hhaaaahhh...Sou- _ suke... _ "

The way he moans his name.

Sousuke grinds down against Kisumi's crotch, slipping a hand along one of the slender, pale thighs wrapped around his hips. The faint carpet burn developing on his knees feels distant compared to his urgent need to get rid of the layers of fabric barring their skin from touching.

Sousuke grunts his frustration with Kisumi's boxers, dipping down to nip the soft, smooth expanse of his throat again, hoping to elicit another tantalizing moan. Kisumi's chilly hands working their way underneath his sweatshirt make Sousuke shiver.

They'd been playing All-Stars Battle Royale just minutes ago; the controllers lie abandoned, the pause menu still blaring across the television, sending discoloured light flitting across Kisumi's face. Kisumi tilts his chin, pleased smile curling his lips. His eyes spark as he moves his hands to touch Sousuke's face. "Stop teasing and  _ kiss  _ me."

Sousuke smirks, pausing to remove his shirt. Kisumi whines impatiently, digging his fingers into Sousuke's sides and attempting to pull him back down. With his arms still tangled in the sweater, Sousuke presses himself down over Kisumi, feeling his warm, smooth skin against his chest. Only once he's ripped his hands free and replaced them in Kisumi's feathery hair does he finally give in, sliding his tongue into Kisumi's mouth.

He's hard, rocking against Kisumi's thigh. Even without being able to feel Kisumi's own erection digging into his hip, he'd know they're in the same stage of needy arousal. Kisumi moans breathily and clings tighter, tongue twining around Sousuke's.

Sousuke's finally got his belt undone, pants pulled down his thighs, and his hand shoved down the front of Kisumi's underwear when a loud, metallic clatter startles them both. He looks up toward the doorway, ice bathing his spine when he sees someone standing there.

"Makoto," Kisumi trills in surprised delight, twisting his neck to get a look. "You're back?!"

"I...I-I'm sorry," Makoto squeaks, making a move to cover his eyes. Halfway to his face, he thinks better of it, letting his hand drop to his side and simply averting his gaze. Even in the pale television light, Sousuke can see the brilliant red flush creeping over his cheeks, quickly spreading to his ears and neck. "I'll go, I just need my, my...uh..."

Sousuke takes the opportunity to let go of Kisumi's still-hard dick, tucking his own rapidly deflating state of affairs back into his pants and zipping up for good measure. He regrets it almost immediately as the zipper screams deafeningly into the awkward silence.

"My jacket," Makoto mumbles weakly, pointing blindly in the direction of the chair. Sousuke can reach it if he leans back on his haunches. He's careful to grab it with the hand he  _ hadn't _ been stroking Kisumi's cock with mere moments ago. He tosses it as hard as he can to make sure it clears the entire room, lest Makoto have to step any closer to them to retrieve it. Unfortunately, Makoto's still fixedly avoiding looking in their direction. Sousuke winces as the heavy winter jacket smacks him in the face.

"Sorry. My bad," he says helplessly, watching as Makoto fumbles the jacket, almost dropping it to the floor.

"I should have...um...knocked," Makoto squeaks.

"Aw, you don't have to go," Kisumi whines, a hint of regret in his tone. "We'll find something else to do, right?" He blinks back at Sousuke, hoping for his approval.

Sousuke crosses his arms, unable and  _ unwilling  _ to force a smile. He shrugs, saying nothing.

Makoto continues struggling into his jacket, misbuttoning several of the clasps. "Really, Kou offered to buy me dinner earlier, so maybe I'll take her up on that...and then I'll just sleep at Haru's, it's fine." He recedes into the darkness of the kitchen, disappearing from sight.

"Okay," Kisumi sighs, dubious. "I'll make it up to you!"

"It's fine, you have the whole night to yourselves," Makoto's voice floats back, equal parts awkward and apologetic. There's another metallic clink- the sound of him picking his keys back up, Sousuke guesses- then a rustle and the gentle click of the front door closing.

"Crap," Kisumi says, sinking back down onto the floor and throwing his arm across his face. "I didn't think he'd be done helping Kou move her furniture until  _ late _ ..."

Sousuke, still on the floor, crawls over to him, eyes on the huge bulge in the front of his boxers. He says nothing, simply lifting the elastic of his waistband to draw Kisumi's attention to it.

"Don't," Kisumi warns, hands instantly moving to hide his crotch. Now Sousuke notices how flushed his face is.

Sousuke cocks an eyebrow, only slightly shocked. "This from getting caught? Or...?" He can tell pretty easily from Kisumi's tormented expression that they're dealing with  _ or.  _ He's not surprised at the idea of Kisumi having feelings for his roommate- it's not exactly new information, and Sousuke's become accustomed to Kisumi's frequent crushes on other people- no, the surprising bit is how fucking  _ aroused  _ he's become from such an innocuous event.

Maybe, if this had happened back in college while their relationship was still new and tentative, Sousuke would have been bothered by it. Perhaps back then, he would have been jealous. There's a chance he would have gone home. But after so many years and a hundred fights about their differing romantic views, Sousuke just smiles and grips Kisumi's slender wrists, prying them away from his dick. "Pretend he's still watching if you want," he whispers. Kisumi shivers.

 

 

 

 

 

Sousuke watches as Makoto stirs four packets of sugar into his cup of coffee, cringing internally. "I thought that was just a study technique," he comments, remembering long nights spent cramming together for their shared theoretical physics course in college.

"I never learned to drink it black," Makoto tells him, taking a sip. His face relaxes as he drinks, giving way to a satisfied smile. "I think coffee should be like dessert."

"I think Rin's the only one with enough hair on his chest to drink it as is," Sousuke replies, taking the tea bag out of his own cup. He'd rather have cola, but this place is too fancy for that kind of thing. That, and it's eight o'clock in the morning.

"I have it on good authority that he still waxes," Makoto laughs. " _ Everything.  _ And please don't ask how I know that."

Sousuke nods, taking a sip of tea.  _ Still too hot.  _ "Some things are better left unknown."

"Right." Makoto clears his throat, eyes dropping. "Speaking of...that. I...I need your advice on something."

Stomach tightening, Sousuke blows coolly on his tea before replying. "Sure. What's up?"

Makoto sets his cup down, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, after...the other night, I, ah...I've been doing some thinking, and..." He finally meets Sousuke's eyes, face painted with guilt. "It might be time for me to get my own place."

Sousuke blinks, thinking for a split second that this must be some kind of prank. Makoto's somber expression quickly chases away that inkling. "Because of last night?"

"I've been toying with this idea for a while," Makoto answers slowly, face a tortured mass of mixed emotions. "I love living with him. He's been an amazing roommate, and it always made so much sense for us to split living costs and everything, but lately...it's starting to make less sense."

Sousuke doesn't miss the slight crinkle at the corner of Makoto's eyes as he says it, or the gentle firmness of his tone. "What, you think you're stepping down so  _ I  _ can move in? Not gonna happen. I like things the way they are."

"O-of course. Things are great the way they are," Makoto agrees. "Between you two. But I think I'm starting to get in the way."

_ Why do you sound like  _ you're  _ the one who just accidentally kicked a puppy?  _ Sousuke places the palms of his hands on the table in front of him, eyes fixed on Makoto's. "Listen...I'm sorry you saw my junk. I'd probably be traumatized, too. But I promise you'll never have to see it again."

"It wasn't a big deal." Makoto fiddles with an empty sugar packet, tearing the paper into small strips. Halfway through he realizes what he's doing, dropping it and clasping his hands together on the table in front of him. He takes a deep breath. "I still think I need my own place. I just don't know how he'll take it."

"He'll be devastated," Sousuke sighs, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "And I'm going to pretend not to be offended that you just said my junk isn't a big deal."

The laugh he's hoping for doesn't come. Instead, he gets a soft, apologetic smile. The kind that makes his heart ache, wishing he knew the right thing to say. Kisumi would be able to do it. Somehow. Like magic.

"He loves you, you know. Just be honest about how you're feeling. He'll understand."

A hollow chuckle. "I'll...try that. Thanks."

 

 

 

 

 

Kisumi hums as he shampoos his hair, using the extra lather to wash off his body. He does his arms, chest, stomach, and thighs before reaching back to scrub his ass. It's a little tender, and as he uses a finger to clean inside, he decides to give Sousuke a thorough scolding about the consequences of doing it raw.

Sousuke had already been gone when he woke up; their work schedules never seemed to match up. When he hears the sound of a door opening, he figures it's Makoto finally returning. As he gets out of the shower, he berates himself for not having an apology breakfast ready and waiting. He ties a towel around his hips, throwing the bathroom door open. "Mako?"

"Yeah?"

Water drips from his hair onto the hardwood as he rushes down the hall. He can feel rivulets trailing down his inner legs as well; he pads quickly but carefully on the balls of his feet to avoid slipping, the thought that he'll have to mop this mess up later pushed aside for now. When he pops his head around the corner to Makoto's room, he's greeted by the sight of rippling back muscles. His heart threatens to climb up into his throat, but he swallows it down. "Hey! How was your night?" He winces as he says it, preparing himself for the worst.

"It was pretty fun," Makoto answers, digging through a drawer for a clean shirt. "I ended up staying on Kou's spare futon. We watched movies."

"She does have great taste in movies." He takes a seat on Makoto's bed, still made up nicely with plenty of extra-soft pillows. "Sorry about last night. We should've gone to my room."

"It's okay, don't worry about it." Makoto pulls on a clean t-shirt, then looks at Kisumi with those earnest green eyes. "I...I think I'm gonna start looking for a new place."

Kisumi's heart stops beating altogether. "Wh- no! Why?!" He flinches as the words leave his mouth; he should be more understanding, have more delicacy, but his chest hurts and the emotion in his voice bursts forth without his consent.

"Because. I can't...it's getting to the point where I can't..." Makoto looks away, ears pink. The morning sunlight streaming through the window highlights the tawny gold strands in his hair. He's  _ gorgeous.  _ "I need to be alone sometimes."

Kisumi springs up from the bed, catching the towel with one hand to make sure it doesn't fall, putting the other on Makoto's shoulder. "I can give you more alone time. I can do that, we'll stay at Sousuke's. It won't happen again."

Makoto takes several deep breaths, squeezing his eyes shut. Kisumi takes his hand away, concerned. He can't read this emotion, because it's one he's fairly sure he's only seen a handful of times before. When Makoto's eyes snap open again, they glitter, hard. "I'll pay out the lease and everything, but I want to be out of here by the end of the month."

"I..." Warmth blazes across Kisumi's chest like a fresh bruise. Makoto's jaw is stubbornly set; he's already planned out how this conversation ends. Kisumi can see it. But it doesn't mean he can't try to change it. "You have to at least tell me  _ why.  _ You're my best friend. I can't just let you go. Not like this." His chest constricts sporadically, on the verge of panic. As it often does when he's scared.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Makoto says gently, mouth twisting into a smile. Kisumi recognizes it for it really is- a surrender. A shift from  _ his  _ distress to Kisumi's.

In a moment of selfishness, Kisumi pounces. "I must have done  _ something. _ I can't understand why you would just suddenly...there has to be a reason. I...do you not like me anymore?" He makes his reasoning purposefully overdramatic. Poking. Prodding.

"That's not it," Makoto snaps, as if upset Kisumi would ever even come to such a conclusion. Exactly as Kisumi intended. "Of course I like you."

"Then you don't like Sousuke? Please don't make me choose between you because I-"

"It's not because I don't like Sousuke," he replies, smile wavering. "We've been friends for years, how could I possibly...?"

"You're good at playing pretend," Kisumi answers, stepping closer.  

Makoto nervously chews his bottom lip, looking away. "I'm not playing pretend."

"You're playing some kind of game," Kisumi pushes. "Fine, if you won't tell me, I'll guess." He taps his chin, seriously analyzing events from the previous night. "This has something to do with you seeing us. With you seeing Sousuke's- oh." Realization dawns like the sun. "Oh my god, I know what it is. You have a crush on-"

"I have to go to work," Makoto says, leaving the door open as he flees.

"Oh my god," Kisumi repeats into the empty room, this time in a hushed, reverent voice.  _ This can't be real... _

 

 

 

 

 

Glancing at the clock again, Kisumi sighs and taps his fingernails to the rhythm of Chopsticks. It's not that Sousuke's late or anything, but the weight of Makoto's earlier revelation seems to make time drag by a lot slower. Really, he  _ should  _ be working on an article, tapping his fingers on a keyboard instead of the glass tabletop, but he can't settle his mind long enough to convert basketball stats into a coherent sentence.

By the time Sousuke's telltale knock on the door comes, Kisumi's graduated to filing his nails down with an emery board, a bottle of cuticle conditioner close at hand. He springs up, abandoning the remaining three nails on his left hand. "Come in!"

"Hey." Sousuke slips out of his shoes  without looking down on them, thoroughly scrutinizing Kisumi's face. "I take it he told you already?"

"Yeah, we talked." He worries one of his neglected nails between his teeth, crafting his next few sentences with care. "So he told you about it, too? Did he, uh. Say anything about  _ why _ ?"

Sousuke nods, straightening the cuff of his dress shirt. "I kind of got the sense he thinks he's getting in our way."

"Really?" Kisumi closes the distance between them in two long strides, waiting until Sousuke meets his eyes before continuing. "And do you think he is?"

Sousuke's eyebrows crumple together in confusion. "No. And I told him that."

Kisumi titters, catching Sousuke's hand so he can't turn away. "Of course you did." He clears his throat, ready to edge this conversation in the direction he wants it to go. "Are you ever jealous of my crush on him?"

Ten full ticks of the kitchen clock go by before Sousuke opens his mouth. "...You've never given me a reason to be," he says slowly, suspicion lacing his voice. "Why?"

Kisumi sighs, unsure how he feels himself about the conclusion he's drawn, and even less sure of Sousuke's reaction. "I think he has a crush on you. Maybe even more than that. I think that's why he's taking it upon himself to leave. He probably thinks he's done something wrong."

Sousuke keeps his poker face, the one that means he's thinking, desperately trying to sort out his feelings. A stern frown adorns his lips, but Kisumi knows better than to let it freak him out. Well, his head knows. His heart has no idea, judging by its furious beating. "That's not- that can't be the reason."

"I know him," Kisumi affirms, sensing where his sentiment is leading. "He's got it bad if seeing your junk once has him in an early midlife crisis..."

Sousuke rolls his eyes, but his lips curve into a smile.

Time to play his hand. "Please tell me you feel  _ something,  _ even the tiniest little thing for him. Please." Never before has Kisumi felt so close to having the relationship he'd always fantasized about trying.

Sousuke tears his hand free. "I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm not like you," he whispers, trying to break the news gently. But his voice is gruff. "I care about him, but he's only a friend."

Kisumi hugs Sousuke from behind as he tries to turn away, resting his chin on Sousuke's shoulder. "So you wouldn't fuck him?"

Sousuke pauses, muscles relaxing slightly under Kisumi's weight. He says nothing, but Kisumi can practically hear the gears whirring in his brain. The "I didn't say  _ that _ " hangs heavy in the air, unspoken but still ringing in Kisumi's ears.

"Can we please? Invite him, just one time." He slides his hand over Sousuke's chest, deftly flicking open the top two buttons on his shirt. "As a...parting gift."

He plants a gentle kiss on Sousuke's neck, feeling him breathe. Sousuke tilts his head slightly to allow him access, but still doesn't say a word. Not yet convinced, but still listening.

"It's so easy to see why he has the hots for you," Kisumi continues, grazing Sousuke's nipple under the linen fabric. Sousuke makes no move to swat his hand away. "I dunno why I didn't pick up on it before now."

"I don't even know why  _ you  _ have the hots for me," Sousuke sighs, far less irritated than he sounds.

Kisumi leans in a little, inhaling Sousuke's cologne, bringing his lips close enough to brush Sousuke's ear when he speaks. "Mostly because of _this_ ," he says, fondling the front of his slacks. He bites down his amused giggle at the way Sousuke shudders. "I wonder what you'd look like with your cock buried in his ass. And I've seen his ass. It looks  _ amazing. _ "

"Fine, invite him if you want," Sousuke finally replies, terse despite the heat in his ears. "It's not like he'll actually agree to it."

 

 

 

 

 

"I'm at work," Makoto sighs into the phone, clearly trying hard to keep the edge of exasperation out of his tone. "Can we talk later?"

"No," Kisumi insists, desperate to keep him on the line. "This is way more important!" He lowers his voice, wary of Sousuke listening from the other room. "I know you have feelings for him, okay?"

"Kisumi, I-"

"It's  _ okay.  _ I'm...I mean, I'm okay with it." Kisumi swallows, switching his phone from one trembling hand to the other. "I don't want you to move. Please don't."

A heavy sigh. "I really can't see how this-"

"I'm into it," Kisumi blurts, his last modicum of delicacy abandoning him. "I can't stop thinking about it. I talked to him about it, too, and he's...yeah. We're into it."

"...You're into...what?"

"Sousuke wants to fuck you," Kisumi says carefully, directly, so Makoto can't pretend to misinterpret it. So he can't escape without giving an answer. "And I'm more than okay with that. As long as you let me watch."

For about half a minute, the only thing indicating Makoto hasn't hung up is his gentle breathing on the other end. "...Why are you doing this? I don't understand."

"Because I'm in love with you. And I feel like I'm gonna lose you over this and it's so  _ stupid  _ because I'm...I love both of you and the idea of you two maybe liking each other too is just- just-" he struggles to find the right words to express his emotions, wishing he could see Makoto's face.  

"...Is he going to be there when I get home from work?"

"Um...he's here now," Kisumi replies cautiously, peering around the corner. Sousuke's got the TV on, but he's not even pretending to be paying attention to it. "But he can be gone, if you want."

"No," Makoto whispers. "I want him there. We should talk..."

"Talk?"

"Yes... _ talk. _ "

 

 

 

 

 

Sousuke sits in a desk chair at the end of the bed, arms folded, one leg crossed over the other, stubbornly refusing to admit to himself that the eager blush on Makoto's face is cute. Well, maybe it's cute, but it's not sexy- not like Kisumi's titillating expression. He wears a combination of raw excitement and genuine lust, lashes lowered, eyes dark.

"I've been thinking about this forever," Kisumi hums, kneeling on the foot of the bed, hovering over Makoto. Makoto sits on the edge, legs on the floor, pants and shirt already having joined Kisumi's in a pile near the door. Sousuke has a great view of the curve of his inner thighs, the way the fabric of his boxerbriefs adheres to the taut muscle there. The way Kisumi's hand rests on Makoto's knee, steadily creeping upward.

Makoto locks eyes with Kisumi, giddy smile on his face. "It still feels like a dream."

"A wet dream," Kisumi replies, glancing at Sousuke, eyes lit with mischievous intent. His hand travels over Makoto's stomach, tracing the trail of hair there leading up to his navel, then comes to rest splayed over one of his smooth, muscular pecs. His fingers seem so slender and pale compared to Makoto's honey tan skin, drawing Sousuke's eyes as they brush over a rosy nipple. Makoto jolts slightly as Kisumi teases it, blush spreading from his ears down to his neck and chest. He gasps, just a light exhalation of air, but Sousuke hears it.

"I'm barely touching you," Kisumi breathes, face inches away from Makoto's. "And you're already like this." Sousuke's caught up, entranced by the reaction Makoto's having to Kisumi's tactics.

"It's been a while," Makoto murmurs, voice like melted caramel. He sets his hand over Kisumi's. "Can I...touch you, too?" His eyes flit to Sousuke.

Sousuke keeps his arms carefully folded, holding Makoto's gaze. Before he can speak, or rather, while he's still thinking of something to say, Kisumi swings a leg over Makoto's thighs, situating himself in his lap. He cups Makoto's face, stealing the attention away. "Please do," he says in a soft voice, face filled with longing.

A hesitant gasp, strong fingers digging into Kisumi's porcelain hips, and their lips meet with a soft sound. Makoto closes his eyes, lost in pure bliss. Kisumi's hands slide into Makoto's hair, tugging his head back gently, hips moving against Makoto's crotch. Sousuke's not even sure with one of them the first moan comes from, and he would have sworn he had every one of Kisumi's sounds memorized. He's hypnotized by their bodies sliding together, the gentle whimpers, the wet sound of their deep kiss, the sight of their tongues slipping into each other's mouths. Makoto's fingers slide tenderly over Kisumi's back; Sousuke briefly visualizes the nails digging in, leaving red marks on the creamy white skin. He wonders what it'd take to achieve such a thing.

He's startled out of his fantasy by Kisumi's loud, shuddering sigh. He's leaning slightly back as Makoto trails kisses down his collarbone, over his chest, teasing a nipple with his lips. Sousuke admires the curve of his waist and the way his ass looks in that tight underwear, spread over Makoto's thick thighs.

"You can join us anytime," Kisumi says, as if sensing Sousuke's eyes on them. "Makoto's so _ good _ with his mouth."

At this, Makoto's ears blaze with heat. He glances furtively in Sousuke's direction, mouth still working Kisumi's chest. He pulls his lips away with a slow, tantalizing motion, releasing Kisumi's nipple with a pop. Kisumi groans at the loss of contact, nipple pert and red. Makoto smiles shyly at the sight of his handiwork, using his thumb to wipe saliva from his bottom lip.

Sousuke takes one deep breath to steady his nerves, then heaves himself out of the chair. He's extremely conscious of how quiet the room is as he strips off his shirt. Makoto's eyes follow his hands as he unzips his jeans, widening as he lowers them over his hips, letting them drop in a pool around his ankles. "So." He cups his crotch, squeezing to draw attention to it. Makoto's fixated like a kitten on a length of string. "This is the reason you wanted to move out?"

Makoto nods, swallowing. He looks away, embarrassed grin spreading over his face. "It's just so big, I was worried the apartment wouldn't have enough space."

Kisumi bursts into a fit of giggles before leaning close to whisper something in Makoto's ear. Something that makes Makoto's eyes widen and sparkle, lips parting slightly in surprised delight. "You really should put that mouth to use," Sousuke catches, as Kisumi presses soft kisses to Makoto's cheek.

"I'd love to," Makoto replies, voice more sultry than Sousuke ever could have imagined. "Does one of you want to go first, or...should I take you both at once?"

Sousuke almost chokes, heat rushing into his boxers. He'd never thought Makoto capable of uttering such a sentence, let alone whilst wearing an expression like it would be his greatest pleasure to do so. Even Kisumi seems astounded, mouth dropping open. "Sousuke," he answers immediately, settling back on his knees and looking at them both expectantly. "I really wanna watch you two together."

"I'm down," Sousuke agrees, eyes fixed on Makoto and the straining fabric at the intersection of his thighs. Sousuke's subconscious certainty that Makoto's personal life (the parts nobody knows- whose numbers he has in his phone, who he goes out to dinner with on Saturday nights, what kind of porn he watches on his laptop alone in his room at night) is as steady and tame as the world's most beloved of ice-cream flavours, slowly evaporates.

Sousuke's sure Makoto knows far more about his sexual excursions than he's ever let on, mainly due to Kisumi's kiss-and-tell nature, but he'd never cared to even the scales until now. Even sharing several classes in college and maintaining a comfortable friendship in years since hadn't brought Sousuke much intimate knowledge of Makoto's losses and victories in the dating arena. Now he wonders if what they're doing now counts as a victory in Makoto's books. He wonders if he should count it as one in his own.

A subtle curiosity takes root, somewhere halfway between his heart and his head. "I wanna see what makes you think you can take two at once," he whispers, reaching out to caress Makoto's jawline with his thumb.

Makoto smiles mildly, slipping off the edge of the bed onto his knees. His bare muscles ripple fluidly as he moves, tight and tan and bulging in ways Sousuke's not used to seeing outside of gay porn magazines. "A lot of practice," he murmurs, looking up through his lashes, reaching out to rest his palms on Sousuke's thighs. His hands are hot and broad and firm, face flushed and eager, everything about him at odds with the shy, chaste image Sousuke had built up in his head. His eyes sparkle with startling alacrity as he continues. "That, and I don't have a gag reflex."

 

 

 

 

 

Sousuke runs his fingers through Makoto's hair, grasping it firmly, riveted by the sight as his cock slides centimeter by miraculous centimeter between Makoto's lips. Kisumi doesn't feel even the tiniest pang of jealousy knowing that the predatory cast to Sousuke's face has been caused by another; he shudders as a strange surge of pride and lust courses through him, quickening the motion of the fingers he has curled inside himself. He leans back against the headboard, spreading his legs open as wide as he can manage with his boxers pulled down around his thighs.

Sousuke's completely absorbed, the way Kisumi had dreamed of; there's colour high on his cheekbones, sweat trickling down his neck from the effort of restraining himself. Usually Kisumi only catches glimpses of this face in the mirrored closet door in Sousuke's bedroom. Now it's there for him to study as openly as he wants, leisurely stroking his cock and pressing fingers deeper in at the same time.

"Shit," Sousuke breathes, thrusting his hips. Makoto welcomes his movements, bobbing his head in rhythm with him. He makes soft sounds each time Sousuke pulls back, breathing steadily through his nose. He cranes his head, hoping for a better look at Makoto's face; it's hard to see at this angle, but Kisumi can tell easily from the curve of his back and the way his hips rock shallowly back and forth that he's enjoying himself. He takes it all in, making tiny, hungry noises, until his nose meets the patch of coarse black hair at Sousuke's pubic line.

Sousuke shudders as Makoto pulls back off, slow and sensual, passing his tongue over the tip and pressing a gentle kiss to it before stopping to catch his breath, chest heaving and glistening with sweat. "Impressive," Sousuke mumbles, just loudly enough for Kisumi to hear. Concentrated red spots appear on Makoto's face, a huge smile lighting his face up with pleasure.

"I can't believe you took that whole thing," Kisumi raves, pulling his fingers out of his ass to illustrate his point with obscene hand gestures. "I can only fit like, half of it. Sometimes I have to tie him up so he can't accidentally choke me. Smaller dicks are so much easier to suck."

"You weren't complaining about my dick last night," Sousuke grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. Makoto gazes at Sousuke's erection, going into Christmas Morning Mode.

"Yeah, well, last night it wasn't in my  _ mouth, _ " Kisumi purrs, sliding his hand back between his legs. Makoto eyes are fixed on him now, equally as intense as when he was staring at Sousuke. Kisumi wavers for a moment; it's only natural for someone to gaze upon Sousuke with such adoration, but  _ him _ ? Sousuke's watching, too, piqued. Kisumi blushes, catching Makoto's eye, and continues. He gasps as his own fingers make contact, fully hard and aching for the touch of another person.

Makoto gulps, resting his elbows on the side of the bed. "I have to agree with you," he says carefully, maintaining delicate eye-contact. "Smaller ones are easier to suck." He glances down pointedly. "They're usually a lot more fun."

Kisumi squirms, a flood of heat crashing through his body from his face to that place deep in his belly, washing away all coherent thought. He'd like to say something sexy in reply, but what comes out sounds more petulant than anything. "Sousuke only sucks mine on White Day."  _ Damn it.  _ "And he's so,  _ so _ bad at it."

"I'd love to help you with that," Makoto says faintly, crawling up on the bed. Sousuke glares at Kisumi over Makoto's shoulder, but it's so hard to pay attention with the view Makoto's presenting. He's the only one with his boxers still on, the front bulging and stained wet. Kisumi dispenses with a reply out of fear of saying something even more stupid about Sousuke's bedroom skills, leaning forward to catch Makoto's hand and pull him into a deep, heated kiss. Makoto's thighs burn hot where they brush against Kisumi's bare legs; he doesn't care anymore what part of whom is where. He just wants contact, scrabbling and gripping hard to maintain it, needy whimpers escaping his mouth and mingling with the ones Makoto's making.

The foot of the bed dips with Sousuke's weight as he joins them; glancing up briefly, Kisumi sees him studying Makoto's ass with ferocious intensity. The he catches Kisumi's eye, giving a half shrug and a non-apologetic smirk. "We all have our strengths," he says calmly, and Kisumi knows he's been forgiven.

"W-Wait, wait a second," Makoto breathes against Kisumi's lips, momentarily breaking the kiss. "Did you say you sometimes  _ tie him up? _ ”

Kisumi can't remember the last time he saw someone look so simultaneously guilty and excited, like a kid showing his friend the tattoo he'd gotten without his parents' permission. He's starting suspect Makoto's done a  _ lot  _ of things that he'd never tell his parents. Things he'd never told  _ anyone-  _ until now.

 

 

 

 

 

When Sousuke finally pulls his fingers out, Makoto moans low in the back of his throat, hole clenching tightly. Reaching for the bottle of lube again, Sousuke decides he likes Makoto even better in this position. He's on his knees, pitched so far forward he looks like he's praying, but with his face buried in Kisumi's lap and his hands tied tightly behind his back, he looks marginally less saintly. Kisumi's sitting with his back against the headboard, knees spread wide, pale thighs tinted a delicious shade of pink. Makoto certainly seems to think he tastes as good as he looks- he's bobbing his head up and down, swallowing visibly around Kisumi's cock, swirling his tongue over the tip and sensitive underside at every opportunity.

Sousuke's vision is obstructed by the expanse of Makoto's wide, muscled back and broad shoulders, but he can tell by the way Kisumi's elbow jerks back and forth that he's fingering himself at the same time. He's flushed and sweaty, candyfloss hair sticking to his forehead, eyes glassy. His hold on Makoto's hair with his free hand is so tight his knuckles have gone white; Sousuke wonders if it's causing Makoto any pain. But he seems completely nonplussed, giving the occasional shuddering sigh and swaying his hips back against Sousuke's crotch.

Both Kisumi and Makoto pause for a moment at the sound of Sousuke tearing open the foil condom packet; he grins to himself, amused at their inadvertent  pornographic reconstruction of Pavlov's experiment.

His first thrust is slow and precise- he holds Makoto by the hips, keeping him steady in his iron grip. Makoto strains against the bindings on his wrists, groaning lustily around Kisumi's cock. Carefully, Sousuke pushes in, copious lube and preparation allowing him to slide in quite easily. Makoto rocks back into him, taking him deeper, ass flush with Sousuke's hips. Sousuke takes a hold of Makoto's wrist, bending down to make sure he can hear. "You ready?"

He nods, touching Sousuke's hand with his free fingers. Placing one palm on Makoto's lower back and clutching his thigh with the other, Sousuke starts to move. He's hypnotized by how different Makoto's build is from Kisumi's; thicker, wider, stronger. More...jiggly. The force of Sousuke's thrusting shifts the whole bed, he's glad it's sturdy, and the collective moaning and gasping drowns out the slight creak. Kisumi has his knee hooked over Makoto's shoulder, eyes screwed shut, head lolled back against the wall. He bites his lip, then gasps, mouth falling open.

Sousuke gives Makoto's ass a firm squeeze to get his attention, thrusting faster. "He's so close to coming," he grunts. Makoto hums in response, timing the bobbing of his head to Sousuke's movements.

"Not... _ fair _ ," Kisumi whimpers, body trembling. He digs his nails into Makoto's back, tipping his head back. Sousuke smiles, enjoying Makoto's reaction to Kisumi's particularly vocal orgasm. Sweat trickles down the small of his back as Kisumi continues to shudder and cry out and Makoto's hole simultaneously tightens around his cock.

Before Kisumi's even caught his breath he's pulling Makoto up toward him, struggling to untie the knot in the blindfold. Sousuke doesn't make it easy for him, going at a rougher pace now- his inhibitions fade now that moans and sighs of pleasure fall more freely from Makoto's mouth, letting him know how much he's into it.

Kisumi kisses him, long and hard, gently stroking his hair. It's messy and uncoordinated, both of them slick with sweat, Kisumi's movements heavy and drunken after his orgasm. Gazing at Makoto's face, he looks almost high; Sousuke feels a slight unfamiliar pang in his chest. "I want you on your back," he growls, sitting back on his knees.

"Sure," Makoto readily agrees. Sousuke helps him flip onto his back, hands still tied beneath him. Kisumi folds his legs and cradles Makoto's head in his lap, bending down to kiss him again. Sousuke drinks in the view of Makoto's heaving, sweat-soaked chest, the soft lines of his tan abs, his hard, dripping cock. And his face. His face is wrecked, flushed and needy, pupils blown wide. He spreads his legs open enticingly, engaging in another messy kiss with Kisumi.

Sousuke's relishes the feel of Makoto's thighs, running his hands up them as he lifts his legs by the knees. This time, he's able to watch Makoto's face as he enters; he's eager, willing, all semblance of his usual reserved propriety completely shattered.

He loses track of time after that. He's not too sure how many times he has to stop to readjust his grip, how many times Makoto cries out begging for more. He can't remember when Kisumi stopped kissing Makoto and started teasing his nipples instead. He's hazy on when he replaces Kisumi's lips with his own, chest sliding over Makoto's as he leans down, hands shifting up into his tangle of damp tawny hair. He doesn't know how long he's lost exploring Makoto's mouth with his tongue.

The one thing that imprints itself into his memory is the way Makoto's face looks when he finally comes, like he's been given a glimpse through the gates of heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

The next thing he's aware of is settling in under the covers with his nose buried in the nape of Makoto's neck. Kisumi rustles the blanket, shifting around on Makoto's other side. The king-size is a little snugger than Sousuke's used to, but he's surprised at how comfortable he is even with three grown men squished into it. He's too lazy to ask what Kisumi wants- he's moving around so restlessly it's clear it must be  _ something.  _ Eventually, the question comes. "So...Sousuke."

"Mhm?"

Kisumi's voice isn't quite the controlled whisper he thinks it is- he's never been good with volume control. Or keeping secrets. "What are the chances of us doing this again?"

"I think you already know the answer."

"Yeah...but I wanna hear you say it."

Sousuke can't tell if Makoto's awake or not; if not, he's fallen asleep with his fingers twined through Kisumi's. Sousuke sighs, hoping that if he pretends to fall asleep he can avoid the question. Kisumi's having none of it, reaching over to poke him.

"Do you have feelings for him, too?"

"We had sex  _ one time _ ," Sousuke answers. The pure longing and excitement in Kisumi's voice makes Sousuke chuckle, deep in his chest. He adds it to the list of things he loves about his boyfriend, along with the way he wants to share everything he loves with the people he cares about.

When he looks up, Kisumi's staring, catlike smile on his lips. "That's what you said when  _ we  _ first hooked up, and this wasn't even fueled by tequila shots and sexual frustration! You can't lie and pretend you only did it to make me happy. Admit it. I saw it written all over your face."

"I remember the first time we hooked up," Sousuke says, intending to do whatever's necessary to avoid discussing his feelings. "The Hallowe'en party. You were dressed like an angel." He touches a strand of Makoto's hair; it smells like sweat and sex and a faint undertone of shampoo. There's a part of Sousuke that just can't let go of the vision of the gentle, innocuous person he thought he knew. 

“A slutty angel,” Kisumi corrects.

"Right,” Sousuke agrees. “So I guess you two have that in common."

"I remember that night," Makoto's sleepy voice adds. Sousuke jumps, rapidly running over the past few minutes of conversation in his head, hoping he hasn't said anything too incriminating.  _ Aside from comparing him to an angel just now. Fuck. _ "You locked me out of our dorm room," Makoto continues. "I felt really left out."

"We'll never leave you out again," Kisumi assures him, tossing a leg across both Makoto and Sousuke and successfully kicking the covers off the bed. He doesn't even seem to notice. "And that's why you can't move out!"

"Are you sure you want me to stay? Will there really be enough room for the four of us?"

Kisumi goes quiet. "Four...?"

Makoto nods, face solemn. "You, me, Sousuke, and Sousuke's dick."

Sousuke makes eye-contact with Kisumi, trying his best not to laugh. "It's like playing Tetris," Kisumi replies seriously. "We just have to make our pieces fit together right."

"I can think of at least one way," Sousuke murmurs against Makoto’s ear, hand slipping beneath the covers back into newly-charted territory. Makoto sighs contentedly as Kisumi leans in for a kiss, and Sousuke finds himself feeling slightly concerned at exactly how much he doesn’t hate sharing, either.


End file.
